


The Priestess and the Arishok

by Philliwolf5



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-05-23
Updated: 2015-08-14
Packaged: 2018-03-31 20:01:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,615
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3990904
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Philliwolf5/pseuds/Philliwolf5
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Arishok is the epitome of all that is Qun, and he regrets nothing. But when he visits the Tamassrans for relief, he encounters someone there that sows the seeds of dissent in his hard heart. The story of how Garesh Adaar's parents met and paved the way for the Inquisition. Incorporates both DA 2 and DA:I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Meeting

**Author's Note:**

> A/N - This is a short story of the origins of my Qunari Inquisitor, Garesh Adaar. Partially inspired by KrystylSky, who asked jokingly for a oneshot on how Adaar's parents, revealed to be a former Tamassran and the Arishok himself in the 9th chapter of my DA:I work, Riding the Bull, met. This gave me the idea to pursue a story about it. This will hopefully be a SHORT story, maybe 3-5 chapters. But we all know the Muse sometimes has ideas of her own. Anyway, please read and review. Tell me what you think!
> 
> 5/24 - minor edits/corrections  
> 8/16 EDIT: Changed the location. The seat of the Qunari is on Par Vollen not Seheron.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I do not own Dragon Age or the characters, nor do I receive compensation for this work

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Arishok meets Ataani.

The Qunari dreadnought navigated the waves of the Boeric Ocean, finally drawing near the vicinity of Qunadar on the island of Par Vollen.  The Antaam had been successful again, beating back the Imperium’s forces to allow a small but formidable contingent of Berasaad to make camp on the region of Tevinter known as the Eyes of Nocen.

It was a strategic location, giving them an eye on the coast, specifically the route to Minrathous, the capital.  If any of the Tevinters tried to mount an attack against them, the Qunari would be made abreast of it long before they could get close.

The campaign had taken four months to accomplish, and his men were justifiably eager to return home to rest, food, and diversion.

The Arishok sat on his throne, overlooking his men’s preparation to disembark as they edged ever closer to shore.  The sights and sounds of duties being fulfilled gave him comfort.  It was good to be home.

He thrived on purpose, as did all who lived under the Qun.  That included expanding and educating others.  The people had made forays into Tevinter, Antiva, and even Rivain, attempting to bring their teachings to the many _bas_ races.

Each time they had been repelled, to their great frustration.  Today’s victory was a hard-fought blessing, and many would celebrate this night.

There were also prisoners, those who had surrendered or defected, some of whom would undoubtedly convert or be made useful by other means.

All would be sorted when they made landfall.  For now, the Arishok was content just to watch his homeland as they approached, breathing in the salty air laced with the vegetation and other life that populated the island.

He was tired, exhausted even.  In his role he was expected to oversee the Antaam, but he preferred to do so in battle, alongside his men.  At best, the throne was a tedious indulgence, one he only rarely sat. 

His body ached with the need for rest, a good, dull soreness that said he had accomplished something that had been difficult, but completely worth the struggle. 

At the same time however, was the restlessness in his mind and spirit, always present after an intense battle.  He had not left the fight without losing some of his men, and it grated hard on his thoughts.

Soon he was on a boat, being rowed to shore, others disembarking behind him as the dreadnought was set to anchor.

Tired warriors dragged themselves to wherever they would lay their heads, many in any of the identical housing complexes that lined the countryside.  The Arishok had his own quarters, as befitting someone of his station.

The restlessness he had hoped would leave him remained, so much that it was clear he would get no rest if it wasn’t alleviated soon.  So he diverted his route, turning his steps to a different location than to his quarters. 

He would need to make a stop before he laid his head down to rest tonight.

Giving his farewells to his men, the warrior made his way to the dwelling of the Tamassran priestesses, specifically the pleasure temple.  Perhaps they could settle him so he could rest.  Tomorrow would surely be another busy day.

The domicile was always open to those in need, day or night, and the Arishok quietly entered.  He was immediately intercepted by the hostess, who greeted him politely. 

“ _Shanedan_.  You honor us with your visit, Arishok,” she stated, her white robes standing out in the dim lights, waving about her in the evening breeze.  Her hair was styled in braids flowing down her back like shining, white ropes. 

She gestured down a hallway.  “Please, follow me.”  He did as bidden, and was led to a room that housed only a bed and table with a few chairs. 

The one window in the room was slightly open, the curtains drawn, the breeze blowing them gently.  Candles were lit on sconces as well as on the table.  The smell of incense was prevalent throughout the structure, all designed to relax and relieve visitors of stress.

All the same, the Arishok remained standing as the hostess assured him that someone would attend him shortly.  He would visit the priesthood regularly, especially before and after a campaign.  It kept him loose and undistracted by thoughts of his body’s needs.

No one condemned him this.  The Arishok could indulge from time to time, as could anyone, was actually expected to do so.  It made him calm, centered and ready to accomplish the duties for which he was appointed. 

Leading the body of the Qun was by no means a small task, and he needed to be at his best.

The door opened, announcing the arrival of she who would serve him.  He took a deep breath as the light scent of flowers drifted to his nose.  He could feel himself already relaxing in her presence. 

He heard light footfalls as she approached him, then the warmth of a feminine hand at his elbow.  “ _Shanedan_ , Arishok,” murmured the velvety, light voice softly at his ear.  “I am honored to serve you,” she said with a slight bow.

Her voice…she wasn’t familiar to him.  Perhaps she was newly-brought to the temple.  Some of the Tamassrans served their purpose through the education of children and viddathari.  Some were known to shift position from time to time.  Perhaps she came from there. 

He turned to have a look at the female, who had stepped back a respectable distance.  She was beautiful, as Tamassrans tended to be.  Her curved horns were adorned with gold bands and chains.  Upon her pointed ears, she wore cuffs, one with a thin chain that attached to one of the bands. 

Her robes were white but shear.  He could see the dark tips of her breasts through the thin fabric, his gaze pausing to appreciate. 

As his eyes traveled further down, the Arishok noted the pleasing flair of her hips, the miniscule fabric draping over her smooth skin perfectly.  Her feet were bare, warmed by the abundance of furs lining the chamber floor.

When his gaze returned to her face, he found the priestess held his eyes, undaunted by his appearance.  She surely knew who he was.  His armor would have given him away immediately.   But her posture, and those eyes, the color of burnt honey, met his unflinching.

It was at that moment that he felt his first pangs of arousal.

She padded forward with silent steps, stopping just in front of him.  “How may I be of service to you?” she asked, her strange eyes never leaving his face. 

He stared, transfixed, and he could tell she was unsure how to respond.  “Perhaps a massage for your weary muscles?” she suggested. 

That was a good idea.  When he gave her a quick nod, she set to work removing his armor, doing so with such practiced ease, he caught himself wondering if she’d done this before and for whom. 

She removed his gauntlets and unbuckled his pauldrons and harness, baring his upper half, with its interlocking lines of red war paint, entirely.  Her knuckles brushed against his back, and he felt warmth linger there long after her touch had gone.

The disrobing did not stop there.  His sword and axe were unstrapped and sitting on the table.  His lower garments followed, and soon he was without raiment at all save the gold metal that encircled his neck. 

She was not intimidated by his nakedness, and ushered him over to the bed, where she had him lay on his stomach.  When she straddled his lower back, he drew in a long breath, willing his heart rate to slow despite his growing excitement. 

It would not do for anyone to see the Arishok lose his composure.  As her firm hands set to work, he exhaled, letting the strain of the day wash off him under her skilled ministrations.  

She kneaded and pushed, rubbing tight circles first over the back of his neck, his shoulders and down his spine.  The priestess placed her weight over her arms, applying such a pleasing pressure to his aches that he lost the battle to avoid making any sound, releasing a grunt that evolved into a groan by the end.

All the time she was doing this, he was made painfully aware of smooth, muscular thighs pressed against him, shifting along his sides with her movements. 

He blamed his exhaustion for his weakness.  Surely that was the reasoning for this hypersensitivity. 

Her scent continued to plague him, her little breaths and grunts making his head imagine other, more tantalizing vocalizations.  Yes, he must be very weary indeed.

All too soon the massage ended.  But the Arishok found that he was not content to part from the priestess, not yet.  When she finished and climbed off him, he grabbed her arm, drawing her golden gaze.

He sat up, all the while maintaining his grasp, sliding it to her wrist.  “I require release,” he said, and his eyes conveyed how great his need was upon him as they caressed her body.

Her stiffness relaxed, and he relinquished his hold on her arm as he placed his hands on her hips, pulling her forward to stand between his spread thighs.

Her hands went to his head, touching him almost lovingly.  “As you wish, Arishok,” she whispered. 

He buried his nose in her belly, breathing in her enticing scent.  His hands tugged at her robes, and she gave no resistance when he began removing them with purposeful hands.  Assisting him only slightly, it was not long before the priestess was herself unclothed.

She stepped from the shimmering pool of white fabric, kicking it to the side and out of the way.  

She shivered as large, clawed hands moved up her back, prompting her to bend forward.  His mouth met her breast half way, immediately taking a nipple into his mouth.

Her breath caught, and she tried to remain quiet while he suckled and mouthed her sensitive skin.  Her hands had moved to his head again as if on their own, caressing the base of his horns, an area known to cause great pleasure among their race.

Rough hands dragged her onto his lap, and he fondled her thighs and breasts as his mouth continued to work her.  This went on for some time, his excitement evident and throbbing against her lower abdomen. 

She began to writhe, her hips moving in a way that caused her to rub against him time and again, and she reached between them, her fingers encircling him and stroking gently. 

He withstood the teasing friction, the awkward angle stimulating but not enough to bring him ultimate pleasure.  He finally stopped her, grasping her rear and lifting her over the erection she had made painfully-hard.

Her hand returned, but this time to guide him to her center.  She aligned his flesh with hers and slowly sat upon him, his length sinking inside her inch by torturous inch. 

When he was fully sheathed, he gave her no pause, so great was the need gripping him.  He lifted her gingerly, his eyes close, brows knitted together.  Then he lowered her, his hips rising to meet her. 

Her breathing was changing, becoming more audible as she became more aroused, and it would have been impossible to tell if the Arishok was excited by this at a glance.  But it was there in the way his hands squeezed, how his jaw clenched, his nostrils flaring.

Soon the room was abuzz with the panting of both.  The priestess had wound her arms about his neck, grinding her hips against him as his hands urged her to ride him. 

Her body was warm, wet, and she was enjoying herself.  He’d never been with a Tamassran so responsive.  Most couplings were cold, routine, a task that simply needed completing, a purpose to fulfill.

But this one…she held him like no other, tightly to her.  Her cheek brushed against his head as she clutched him tight, her sighs becoming a balm to his senses and turbulent mind.  When a moan slipped past her lovely lips, it was all he could take.

Gripping her legs, the Arishok stood, turning so he could place her at the edge of the bed, his body holding her up as his arms ringed her legs.  He resumed his thrusts, powerful and savage, the type of coupling to be expected of a warrior such as him.

She took it all, unflinching and wild.  Her hair spread around her like a great white halo, her back arching into each slap of his hips, her head thrown back as far as her horns would allow.  The arch of her throat, fully extended, beaconed his mouth, and he did not reject the compulsion.

He leaned over her and clamped down on the tender skin just under her jaw, pounding furiously into her until he felt her sheath tighten and pulsate around him.  Her body was convulsing, and her breaths were ragged to his ears.

Her tightness and damp warmth were his undoing, the tinder of arousal ignited when she once again reached up to his horns, using her nails to stimulate at their base.  With a snarl against her skin, he slammed against her one last time, spilling himself within the hot depths of her body.

His hands held her hips in place as he thrust slowly inside her before going still.  They stayed so for a beat longer, the Arishok finally pulling away from her throat.  His eyes met hers, his usually stoic gaze regarding her with an odd expression.

She was unsure what to think, seeing him look at her that way, but then the moment was over.   His face became his usual smooth mask, the face of the Antaam, and he withdrew from her, turning away so his back was to her. 

She took a moment to observe the scars he held, obviously gained from his many battles.  She was possessed of an urge to run her fingers along each but quickly tamped down the impulse.

She rose and moved toward her discarded garments.  However, before she could don them she was cut off by the deep bass of his voice, the growling tone vibrating her to her very bones.  The sensation caused her eyelids to flutter and ever more moisture to pool at her core.

“No,” he warned.  “I require more.”  Her eyes met his, and her robes were once again forgotten as she went to him, pulled by the unmitigated heat in his gaze. 

He grasped her hand, and she again allowed him to take the lead.  The Arishok wasted no time returning her to the bed.

* * *

He left her sleeping deeply, donning his armor quietly and glancing at her one last time before slipping through the door soundlessly.

He met the hostess at the exit.  She bowed her head.  “I hope that we have served your needs to your satisfaction, Arishok.”

He returned her nod, stepping over the threshold.  She had begun to close the door but was stopped by his unmistakable voice.  “That one,” he started, inclining his head in the direction of the hallway.  “What is her name?”

“But my Arishok,” the hostess said playfully.  “We do not have names under the Qun.”

His face showed his disdain for her coyness, so she relented.  “Ataani,” she answered.  He considered this for a moment then turned away. 

“Hn,” she heard him mutter.

“ _Panahedan_ ,” the hostess called as she closed the door.  How odd that he would ask such a question.  She turned on her heel and headed to the room where she expected to find her charge.

* * *

Ataani was awakened by her hostess’ voice and hand on her shoulder, shaking her.  As soon as her eyes fell on the elder Qunari’s face, she quickly sat up, suddenly wide awake.

“Take yourself to your quarters,” the hostess ordered.  “We must clean this room for our next visitors.  You know this.”  She gave her a derisive look.

“Apologies, Mireeka,” Ataani murmured, getting up and gathering her garments.  “I must have fallen asleep.”

“Clearly,” was the reply.  As the younger priestess moved aside, the elder set to work clearing the soiled bedding.  “He asked your name.”

Ataani paused as she was pulling her clothing on, glancing back at her friend’s face.  “What?”

“Yes, an inquiry he has never made before,” Mireeka nodded.  “You pleased him.”

“How do you know?”  Ataani was nearly dressed now.

“I have known the Arishok all my life.  He and I grew up under the same Tama.  We are as brother and sister.”  She smirked at Ataani.  “Believe me, I know.”  With that, she left to find clean linens, leaving a shocked priestess in her wake.

Ataani returned to her rooms, thinking about what Mireeka had told her.  Yes, the Arishok had seemed…pleased by her attentions.  She had thoroughly enjoyed herself as well, something that had surprised her.

Mostly, her purpose was to bring release and replenishment to her patrons.  Her pleasure was neither required nor expected.  It simply was not a priority.  Hers was a duty and nothing more.

But tonight…she had to admit that it was not an unwelcome sensation to enjoy an encounter.

Lying down, she pulled the covers about her and, with images of the Arishok, specifically his hands and body, fell into a peaceful sleep.

Nearby, the object of her thoughts was doing the same, astonished at being unable to remove the priestess from his mind.  Why this was, the Arishok did not known nor did he dwell upon it.  The demands of the Qun did not dictate an attachment of this sort, so there would be none.

But it was not the Demands at the forefront of his mind as he went to his rest that night.  His thoughts were on a pair of golden eyes in the sultry face of a certain Tamassran.

He decided to steel himself and refocus on the purpose for which he was appointed.  That was the way of one who truly lived by the Qun, and he would exemplify that completely.

Despite his resolve, his mind drifted back, to smooth thighs, breasts darkly-tipped, and breathy moans.

It was not certain that he would see her again should he revisit the temple.  But if, by chance he did, it would not be unwelcome.

* * *

 

**So, what do you think?  Thanks for reading!  :)**

 


	2. The Attachment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time has passed, and both parties realize they have feelings for one another, feelings that are explicitly frowned on by the teachings of the Qun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG, I struggled so hard with this! If there was any story that I think I may have bitten off more than I could chew, THIS would be the one. Seriously, as much time as I spent on this, it still may not be all that good. I proofread, but if you see anything amiss, PLEASE let me know! Sorry in advance. Thanks!

Mireeka passed a plate of assorted foods to Ataani.  The two priestesses were having lunch outside in the walled common area near the shipyard.  The sounds of the ocean and bustle of the dock workers were a lull in the background on a beautiful sunny day.

The two ate with purpose but did not rush.  Clients were steady today, and all the priestesses took turns feeding themselves before returning to their duties.  Mireeka and Ataani, best friends despite the age difference, always took the opportunity to dine together.

Ataani watched her friend for a moment, chewing her food as she considered a thought that had long been on her mind.  She was unsure if she should mention it, but eventually opted to give her thoughts peace.

“Do you think he will come again?” she asked, giving her friend pause as she brought a potato to her mouth.  She tried to keep her voice bland, to keep the hope she felt from showing.  It was hard to meet the other priestess’ eyes.

Perhaps he was not as impressed as her friend had let on.  After all, if she had pleased him so, he would have visited her again by now, Ataani thought.

The older priestess placed her food back on her plate.  “He may.  He may not.  That is not for us to worry over.  We simply do our duty when our patrons present at our door,” she stated calmly, appearing equally bland.

Ataani glanced at her face briefly.  She could never really tell when her friend was joking or serious.  So she lowered her eyes and resumed eating.  Then she felt Mireeka’s foot tap her softly under the table.

Mireeka’s face was just barely smiling.  “I am sure he will return,” she said reassuringly.  “He seemed very pleased after his visit with you, more than I had ever seen him.  The Arishok has always been very stoic and hard.  Though he is no smiling fool, his demeanor was…different that night.  You most certainly left a lasting impression on him.”

Ataani could not help but be filled with pleasure at hearing this.  She kept her face as blank as possible, though she was smiling on the inside.  Her mind had been constantly filled with images of the Arishok since that night almost two weeks ago. 

She tried to be subdued, to not let on that he had affected her so, for she could not put a name to how she felt.  He was the head of the Antaam.  To form any kind of attachment to him was not only unrealistic, it was not tolerated. 

Attachments formed on the basis of sentiment were frowned on in their society.  If two Qunari formed such a union, it was not unusual for them to disappear, either for a time or forever. 

Those who did return were…different.  Their minds forever changed, reformed like hot glass.  Most of these were relegated to the mines for manual labor.  It was all that could be expected of them.

 The consequences were enough to keep the masses from rebelling against their teachings.  Most embraced it fully.  Ataani did so as well, but sometimes she wondered about some of the more restrictive tenets. 

She kept it hidden well enough, but it was there all the same.  Why could the Qunari not form attachments or have their own families?  She had seen some of the conquered, the different races of _bas_ that had come either voluntarily or by force.

She’d seen the families, the units of individuals who had been torn from one another.  Many of them had been re-educated not long after their arrival.  Making them more useful, they’d called it.  No one could serve the Qun with such emotional distractions.

In her heart of hearts, Ataani thought it was horrible.  Seeing the crying children separated from their mothers, some never to see them again, it was barbaric to her.  But she dared not say anything. 

The wrong word in the wrong ear could earn her a re-education of her own, and if that failed, a dose of _qamek_. 

She shivered at the thought of becoming mindless, drooling, like those who worked the quarries.  She would rather die. 

For now, she would keep her opinions to herself, even from Mireeka.  She could not chance it.  Her friend was still talking, posing a question.

“You took your Tea after that night, yes?” 

Ataani nodded.  “Yes.”  Her senior was referring to the herbal mixture all Tamas who worked the temple took.  It tasted terrible, but it was a useful contraceptive.  “I imbibed the morning after just before I came down to break my fast.”

Mireeka took a sip of her water.  “Good.  With any luck, Kutal will see you again before he leaves.  I hear he will soon be leading the Antaam on another mission across the sea.”

Swallowing her food, Ataani tilted her head, her brow furrowed.  “Kutal..?”

Her friend was barely smiling again.  “Yes.  That is his true name.  He asked yours.  It is only fair that you know his, though I do not advise using it in the presence of others.”  She began eating again, chewing with mischievous fervor. 

Ataani followed suit, a barely-there smile blooming on her face as well. _Kutal._  She liked it.

* * *

Kutal listened as the Ariqun prattled on about the need for more priestesses.  The three pillars of the Qun, or Salasari, were composed of the Arishok, Ariqun, and Arigena.  They were meeting, as they did once every other moon, to discuss anything of import.

The Arishok had great respect for his fellow leaders, but found it difficult to focus.  He knew that all three of them needed to be strong in order to properly support the people, but this meeting bored him.  So he stifled a yawn, thinking of preparations for the mission to come on the morrow. 

At least, he did for a moment.

It wasn’t long before his mind turned again to eyes of liquid gold and delicate hands.  He steeled himself.  He could not be distracted.  It was of great concern to him, the way his thoughts kept going back to _her_.  

He’d visited the pleasure temple before, on more than a few occasions.  Why was this one Tamassran on his mind so?  No, her true name was Ataani.  He thought on it, had let it roll off his tongue.  _Ataani_.  It was appropriate, sounded exotic and whimsical, just like her. 

Throughout the gathering, his memories had started to harass him.  The way her body had fit so well against his, how she had cried out when he had…  He pinched the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, trying to regain his discipline.

In the weeks since he had met her, he had been occupied with the bulk of the preparations for their campaign, too busy to dwell on other matters.  Now that so little of that remained, he had more time to himself, which meant that there was more time for troublesome feelings to invade. 

The girl had been in the periphery of his attention while he was busy.  Now, when he intended to leave with the Antaam in the morning…it was quite the opposite.

Perhaps another visit would help to purge her from his system so he could be the leader his men deserved.  The thoughts, the blooming attachment, these were not of the Qun.

He would have to rid himself of his desires for the sake of the mission.  Perhaps he needed to see the priestesses in re-education.  They would definitely know how to cleanse him. 

He would only do that if all else failed.

The meeting concluded shortly after that.  He had final preparations and inspections to make before his departure.  So he headed toward the shipyard to check on things there.

As the Arishok walked, he observed the daily business going on at the dock.  There were ships laden with the sea’s bounty, supplies bartered from merchants, and other important items for the people.  He was pleased with what he saw.

A group of Saarebas were being guided onto a dreadnought, their chains rattling as their Arvaarads followed closely.  They would prove quite useful against their enemies.  Tevinter wielded magic like no other enemy he had ever faced.

Everyone was working, each piece bettering the whole.  His motivation was bolstered.  If they could be productive, so could he.  He would accomplish much this day, despite his turbulent thoughts.

Then he smelled it, that flowery essence that had so bewitched him that night.  He closed his eyes, eagerly inhaling as much of it as he could and focusing his senses on it.

 _She_ was near.  He was shocked at the sudden desperation he had, just to catch a glimpse of her.  He discreetly searched, but saw no one within his line of sight.  As he came closer to the docks however, he finally saw the object of his thoughts. 

She was seated with his sister, eating within the walls of the commons overlooking the shipyard.

His pounding heart sped up.  She was talking, eating happily.  She hadn’t noticed him yet, so he took that moment to study her unabashedly.  She was wearing similar robes to the ones she had worn that first night, but these were thicker, designed more to clothe than to entice.

He would see her tonight.  He needed to before he set off tomorrow, lest he be distracted.  His mind felt splintered, chaotic.  A moment with her would put it back together again. 

His plan set him at ease.  So he turned reluctantly away from her to go about his duties. 

But Mireeka had seen him.  She gave no indication, waiting for Kutal to turn away.  “The ocean is always so scenic this time of day.”  She sipped her drink, watching her junior priestess closely.

Ataani raised her gaze to the sea, and froze.  She saw the Arishok, Kutal, walking towards the ships with long strides.  He wore his usual armor, his magnificent horns adorned with the golden rings of his station.

She couldn’t take her eyes off him.  Had he noticed her?  He boarded one of the ships and was soon out of sight.  Ataani’s eyes flitted to Mireeka’s face.  She had resumed eating, but her knowing expression made it obvious she had seen Ataani’s reaction. 

Thoroughly embarrassed, the younger priestess set down her utensils.  “I will return to the temple.”  She stood and left. 

Mireeka looked out at the ocean again.  What was she doing?  It was not advisable to encourage this…connection between the two of them.  Such feelings would definitely be cause for suspicion, would lead to problems for her friend and _especially_ her brother. 

The Arishok had much more to lose than the priestess.  He held the entire Antaam in his hands.  If he were taken to re-education, both morale and confidence in their leader would fall amongst the soldiers. 

But Mireeka had seen how Ataani had affected her brother.  She also knew that, though he hid it well and would never voluntarily admit it, his position was taking a toll on Kutal. 

The many years of conflict with Tevinter, the pressure to conquer and spread the Philosophy, it was a tremendous responsibility.  Even with his resolve, his strength, and discipline, even Kutal needed relief and respite at times. 

He had been happy that night, more so than on any of his previous visits to the temple.

If things continued as they were, he would break.  He needed relief from being Arishok, even if only for a moment.  He could be just another warrior, someone needing help, healing, and replenishment.

Mireeka knew that Ataani could provide those for him.  And though she’d be risking much, Mireeka would do everything within her power to assist if they wanted to see each other. 

* * *

Later that evening, Kutal paused in front of the temple.  He and his men had finished preparations early, enabling him to come sooner.  He had come straight here.  It was disgraceful, how much he ached for her. 

He entered through the entrance, and Mireeka appeared as if from nowhere.  Her expression seemed…worried somehow.  It perplexed him.

“ _Shanedan_ ,” she greeted, bowing before glancing down the hall.  “It is an honor, as always, to serve you, Arishok.”  Mireeka tried to keep her face from betraying her apprehension.  Why did he have to come now, of all times?  He’d just missed…  There was no help for it.  “Please, follow me.”

She led him to one of the rooms.  It was different from the one before but was furnished much the same.  He took his seat, and she bowed to him, the same awkward expression on her face. 

Kutal frowned.  Why was she so stressed?  After a few minutes, his question was answered.

A soft knock was heard at the door, and in walked…a priestess that was _not_ Ataani.  His frown deepened.  Mireeka knew very well who he wanted to see.  Why would she send in someone else?  When the other priestess approached him, he suppressed a growl.

He did not _want_ another.  He wanted _her_!  Standing, he gently moved the frightened young priestess out of his way and proceeded to the door.  Mireeka was standing at her post by the exit, and when he drew near, she was unable to meet his eyes. 

Brushing past her, he made his way back to his quarters, his thunderous expression causing others to jump from his path.  He entered, slamming the door behind him in an uncharacteristic show of temper that stunned even him.

He was suddenly so angry, and he didn’t know why.  She was a priestess.  Naturally, she would have other patrons than just him.  So why was he in the throes of a jealous rage?  How many had seen him shame himself just now?

Kutal began to remove his armor.  He needed to rest.  Yes, that was the solution.  He had to be fresh for tomorrow.  They would leave out early.  This state of mind simply would not persist.  Rest would surely replenish him.

Naked, the Arishok went to his bedchamber and lay down and began the long struggle to sleep.  He hoped to be in better spirits in the morning.  The welfare of his men depended on it.

* * *

Mireeka watched him go, the set of his shoulders and his steps showing how displeased he was.  The one he’d wanted had been busy, and she’d tried her best.  She would have explained, but when Kutal was angry, she, like everyone else, knew to leave him be.

The temple was busiest when there was war, and someone had come just shortly before Kutal.  The priesthood was suffering a shortage, and Ataani had had to attend the visitor.  Hopefully more apprentices would come of age to remedy the deficiency.

She worried for her brother.  His state of mind was tumultuous at best, and on the eve of a mission.  She had to do something.  Maybe she should have had the other warrior wait for someone else to become free…it was best not to dwell. 

Then an idea came to her mind.

After some time, Ataani’s patron departed the temple.  Mireeka bid him farewell and went quickly to the room in which Ataani could be found.  She opened the door to find her junior looking out of the one window in the room.

“Do you require cleansing?” Mireeka asked.  Tamassrans typically visited the baths between each visitor. 

Ataani shook her head.  “He merely requested massage and to listen to his concerns.”  Their duties did not always require coupling.  Visitors often sought other forms of release and psychological counseling.

Mireeka nodded, pleased.  “Good.  I have a rather…uncommon request of you.”

* * *

Ataani followed the path through the night, per Mireeka’s instructions.  A left here, a right there, down past several dwellings, until she finally reached her destination.    She stood in front of a lodging that looked similar to the others in the complex. 

She took a deep breath, hoping to calm herself.  So great was her eagerness she had nearly run over.  But her friend had urged her to walk normally to reduce the chance of drawing attention to herself. 

It was rare to see a Tamassran alone at night, her attire a conspicuous indicator of her role at the temple. 

So she had come quietly, a cloak wrapped about her to conceal her at least some, and found herself in front of what was said to be the Arishok’s domicile.

She knocked tentatively.  Hearing no movement, she did so again, louder.  Still nothing.  Her disappointment mounted at the thought of having to turn away.  Again, she knocked, using a fist this time.

Still, no one answered.  If she did any more she would attract unwanted attention.  She was about to leave when the door begin to open. 

Kutal’s form could just barely be made out, the dim light of a fire in the background.  Ataani pulled back the hood of her cloak, exposing her adorned horns and face, her long hair billowing from over her shoulder.  She bowed.  “ _Shanedan_ , Arishok.”

He stared, a deep frown her only greeting.  Her stomach turned to knots.  Was he angry with her?  Would he reject her visit?

Kutal regarded her coldly, taking in her garb.  Her stomach was bare, her navel enticing.  Was this how she had dressed for her visitor earlier tonight?  Had she given him _full_ service?  He could not stop the nagging, irrationally-jealous voice that asked these questions in his mind.

She questioned him with her eyes.  Did he want her to stay, or would he send her back?  He did not know.  He had hoped rest would bring him back to himself and return him to his more rational, honorable demeanor. 

He was disappointed, however, as his mind still ran with anger, his hands eager to rend and break.  Sleep had been unattainable, and that had put him in a foul mood.

Perhaps he should send her away, banish her for the sake of his sanity.  He needed to be himself again!

Ataani saw the disapproval in his face.  Her face falling, she drew her hood around her again and turned to leave.  She got a few steps when the baritone of his voice stopped her. 

“Wait.”

She heard him and stopped, even as her pride screamed for her to keep walking.  Duty or not, she would not be toyed with.  She had stood there like a fool, while he regarded her as if trash, all without returning her greeting.  It was very rude.

“You may enter,” he uttered, his tone as if speaking to one of his men. 

Ataani faced him, not bothering to hide her annoyance.  “Are you certain, great Arishok?” she asked, her tone put off.  “I would not wish to go where I am not welcome.”

He knew he had angered her.  Kutal put away his hurt pride.  She was a spirited one, this female, and he valued that.  But all the same…  “I would not have asked if I was not certain.”

She frowned as she approached, walking into his quarters.  Her cloak brushed against his bare chest as she passed.  Closing the door behind them, he watched her surveying his dwelling, noting the discarded pieces of his armor on the floor. 

He normally kept everything in order, but given the occurrences of the day, he’d had little concern for it.  Besides, her visit had been unexpected.  But there were more pressing matters on his mind than her opinion of his home.

“I visited earlier,” he said softly.  “But you were…unavailable.”  

Ataani turned to regard him a moment, mulling over a proper answer to his accusatory tone.  “I am a priestess, Arishok.  I was doing my duty.  Surely you of all people know what that means.”  She had a good point.

He held her eyes a moment then dropped them.  He would have to accept this.  It was her responsibility after all, likely one she had been assigned from the moment she had come of age.  He had no right to feel possessive of her. 

Yet he was, and it bothered him to no end.  What was happening to him?

“But if you are wondering, no, I did not lay with my visitor tonight.  He sought a different form of comfort, one that did not require me to undress,” Mireeka asserted.

She could tell he was relieved at this and gave him one of her almost smiles.   In truth, she had been overjoyed when Mireeka had told her of his visit.  She had wanted to see him too. 

She did not know what this was between them or what it could become.  All she knew was that it felt good.  The repeated lessons on the Qun loomed over her joy, warning her.  Her feelings brought great risk.

She would worry about that later.  For now…  She loosened the thong that secured her cloak, letting it slip to the floor.  She glanced at the pool of brown cloth at her feet, stepped out of her slippers, and raised her eyes to his face.

That odd expression he’d worn that first night was back.  It did not suit one such as the Arishok, but she could understand how he must feel.  It was new, this attraction she had for him, contradictory to all they had been taught.

But all they could do was live in the moment, here and now.

Kutal had put on a pair of breeches to appear decent when he answered the door.  She approached, holding his eyes, and placed her hands flat against his massive chest.  She moved them up to his shoulders, fingers moving purposefully over taut muscles.

“How may I serve you, Arishok?”  Her gaze bore into his.  “You were pleased by my massage last time.”

Kutal was silent, his heart speeding up as he finally felt those beautiful hands upon him again.  She was a bold one, Ataani.  He had no idea of the fiery personality she had.  Tonight, it was on full display, and he was intrigued despite it all. 

Their people were not encouraged to have personalities that varied from the norm.  Such things could be problematic.  Having similarities aided them in their collective purpose. 

If what little he had seen were any indication, Ataani was an anomaly.  Thankfully, she was adept at hiding it.

It was an honor to see her true self, and it excited him.  He grabbed her hands in a gentle grip.  “I do not desire a massage.”  There was no need to state what was obvious.  She knew.  He could see it in her eyes.

The growing hardness within his hastily-donned breeches could attest to what he truly wanted.  If she had come all this way to offer him what he so desperately wanted, he would not refuse her.

Without a word, the Arishok held her wrist, drawing her through the anteroom to his bedchamber.  Upon reaching it, he let her go to disrobe.  She inspected her surroundings, pausing when his large hands landed on her shoulders.

Kutal guided her toward the bed, tugging at her robes.  His hands were impatient, and when they heard fabric rip, he slowed down to calm himself.  Ataani was surprised but moved to purpose, letting her robes fall soundlessly at her feet.

Naked, she eased herself onto the bed and lay down, her eyes meeting his, waiting. 

Freed of his breeches, he moved forward, his eyes roving hotly over her.  Surely this would cure him of this incessant ache he had for her.  He needed to slake this lust, or he would put everything in jeopardy. 

Mounting the bed, Kutal leaned down and placed his face in the curve of Ataani’s neck, inhaling.  Her legs drifted apart naturally, cradling his hips therein.  He breathed her in, letting her permeate him to his toes, opening his mouth to taste her skin and feel the soft brush of her hair against his face.

His hand caressed her.  It moved from one of her horns, lightly brushing her face, then lower, past her neck to her chest.  He cupped a breast, the combination of his mouth and hand drawing a sigh from her.

She hadn’t realized how badly she had wanted him to touch her until he had.  Each brush of his skin against hers left tingling warmth in its wake.  A blush began to color her skin as she became more aroused.

He lingered but for a moment, soaking in the softness of her skin, the flowery scent in his nostrils, his mouth.  Dipping his head, he engulfed a nipple. His teeth scored against her puckered flesh, and she moaned without restraint.

The sound of her pleasure excited him, and his hand drifted lower as he continued at her breasts.  Sliding along her belly, he reached her sex, his fingers exploring before tunneling within her.  Her body was hot, tight, and blissfully moist. 

He growled against her skin, his eyes opening to watch her face.  Her eyes were tightly closed under drawn brows, her breaths fast and shuddering.  He couldn’t take it anymore.  Withdrawing his fingers from her, he guided his body close, his forehead against hers, and entered her, sinking deeply.

Ataani hissed as her body gave way to his.  He seemed to fill every empty space until there was no way to tell where one began and the other ended.  His breath fanned her face as he began to move. 

Supporting his weight on his forearms, he pulled back slowly, marveling at how she squeezed him.  Her body tried to suck him back in almost on its own, aiding him as he thrust back home. 

He wanted to go slowly, gently, but the need between them was too great.  Her responses, the way her hips rose to meet his, they thrilled him more than any battle, forever making an impression in his mind and in his heart.

Soon his face was once again at her neck, and his hips were moving quickly, driving him into her with bruising force.  He told her of his need, his unexpected, insatiable thirst for her, with each thrust. 

Kutal grasped her tighter.  He was getting close.  He could feel his climax approaching, and he held her hips immobile as he began his ascent.  His instinct was to ensure that she had her pleasure first.  

But it was too good.  Her body was perfect, more receptive than any of his other partners.  Her silken sheath tightened around him, formed to his member as if made for him alone.  He could not stop, not even if he died.

Ataani reveled in the pleasure she brought to Kutal, her body reacting to the excitement in his.  That feeling was there again, the coiled pressure in her belly, and she wrapped her arms around him.  Her fingertips traced over his back and the scars that peppered the broad expanse.

His teeth against her neck, his hands squeezing and kneading her bottom as he lifted her into his thrusts, in seconds all of the sensations caused the pressure within her core to explode.  She clutched him close, both her arms and her body.   The convulsions had her moaning brokenly against his ears.

Then she turned her head, one of her hands cradling his head as her mouth brushed his ear.  “Kutal…”

Hearing her whisper his name in passion was enough to push him over the drop, propelling him into climax.  Grunting harshly against her throat, the Arishok came hard, his hips jerking in an erratic rhythm.

His thrusts lost their power, and soon he was still against her, his body fluid and drained.  He withdrew from her, dropping to her side as they both caught their breaths.

As the night wore on, the two drifted off to sleep, and the Arishok found true rest for the first time in weeks.

* * *

Kutal watched the priestess as she slept.  The thin covers were spread sparsely over her, giving him tantalizing glimpses of her curves where she rested on her back.   He had never had another in his bed before.  Usually he would visit elsewhere to see to his needs.

The feeling was foreign but oddly satisfying to him.

He had awoken after a few hours of sleep with an idea in his head, one that might actually help things while he was far away from her.  Deciding to give it a try, he had quietly climbed out of bed to sit at the desk near the window of his bed chamber. 

Hopefully, his sister would help.  He turned away from Ataani, dipping the quill in the inkwell and putting words to paper.

Afterward, he slid back into bed with her.  It was a very unusual for a Tamassran to spend the night with someone, especially someone of his station.  It simply was not part of their duties and certainly did not adhere to the Teachings. 

He should probably wake her and send her on her way before there were others to see.

But his body acted as if on its own, molding itself to her.  She woke just enough to curve herself against him, causing him to note not for the first time how perfectly they fit together.

He did not sleep, only soaked in the feel of her, the smell of her soft hair.  He fingered the gold ring that decorated one of her horns.  It was so similar to his, yet smaller, more feminine.  

Upon closer inspection, he observed a small smattering of freckles that sat over her nose and across her cheekbones.  They were easy to miss if one did not pay attention.  To him, they just added to her allure.

Soon, he could just barely make out the light of the morning through his small window.  Sitting up, he gently shook the priestess, who had been sleeping deeply.

Ataani came out of sleep sluggishly, her shoulder being shaken.  She opened her eyes slowly, seeing a muscled torso turned toward her.  Suddenly very awake, she sat up to face the Arishok.  _Vashedan!_ She hadn’t meant to stay the whole night!

“Apologies, Arishok,” she sputtered as she rose, looking for her robes.  Finding them, she dressed quickly, hitching the torn shoulder strap over her shoulder and donning her cloak.  She began searching for her slippers.

Kutal watched her, amused.  He did not regret her stay here tonight with him.  For all they knew, he could die on this expedition.  He insisted on leading his men from the front, never hesitating to enter a battle himself.  This was not an unwelcome way to spend the last night in his homeland.

He stood without shame for his nakedness, and followed her as she approached the exit.  When Ataanni’s hand rested on the handle of his door, it was quickly covered by his larger one.  She stared at their hands, swinging her gaze up to his face.

His eyes were steady on her, facial expression blank.  “I ask that you take this to your hostess,” the Arishok requested of her.  He held a parchment in his hand, free of a wax seal.  He must trust her not to intrude on his privacy.  Or perhaps he wanted her to read it?

Gingerly, Ataani took the letter.  His hand came up to frame her face, and he touched his forehead to hers.  He rested there for a moment with closed eyes, loath to let her go.  But duty called. 

He would have to put on the mantle of Arishok and lead, as he was born to do.  There was no choice.

When they parted, he was slow to let her hand go.  There was so much to say and nothing at all.  From the look on her face, she too felt the pull between them. 

But what could be done?  They would never be permitted to be together.  No one knew that more than he.

Hopefully the letter would help at least some.  Mireeka would let him know of her displeasure, but he knew his sister.  She would do as much as she could.

Ataani opened his door slightly, peering carefully outside.   Seeing no one of notice, she stepped out to begin her return back to the temple.  She turned back, bowing.  “ _Panahedan,_ Arishok,” she murmured.

The Arishok gave her a nod.  “ _Ataani_ ,” he called, when she moved to walk on.  He caught her curious eyes.  He’d never called her true name before.  “You may call me Kutal.”

The priestess managed to nod.  “I wish you safe journey…Kutal.”  She turned then, quickly making her way back. 

Ataani hid her face as she went, a small smile on her lips.

She was long out of sight when he finally closed his door.

* * *

Kutal watched as Par Vollen became smaller and smaller, the great dreadnought negotiating the choppy waves expertly.  He was both eager for this mission and frustrated with it.  The warrior in him reveled in the battlefield.

But that part of him that had come to life, the part that craved Ataani, already languished for home.  He hoped he would see her again, soon.

As his home faded into the distance, the Arishok hardened himself for the days to come.  He knew not when he would return, but the concerns of home would keep.  His men needed him now.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I realize that Qunari don't have "true names" as we have them. Most of their names outside of their station are a series of sounds designed to show their breeding. That is exactly what the names I've mentioned in this slightly AU story are, FYI. Thanks for reading!


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